


a place (to lie down and sleep)

by okayantigone



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Child Abuse, Gen, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Slytherin, Suicide Attempt, Trauma, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:55:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26107558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okayantigone/pseuds/okayantigone
Summary: due to a misunderstanding, severus snape is accused of hitting a student. that's.. not quite at all what's been going on.it does not, by any means, lead to a re-examination of how the wizarding world in general, and hogwarts in specific, handles cases of child abuse and neglect. obviously.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 104





	a place (to lie down and sleep)

everytime he is called ot the headmaster’s office, severus snape can’t help but feel, all over again, like an unruly misbehaving child. and thugh the misbehaviour had never been soly on him, and his unruliness, more often than not, was due to having hexes fired at him from several directions, the grime of the adults’ disapproval clung to his robes even after the healing charms.

even now, as a professor and head of house, having ostensibly become this people’s equal, he can’t help but think of them as a separate entity, the adults to his child. they certainly don’t do much to disabuse him of that way of thinking, consistently stressing on the gaps in their experience, his youth.

partially, that is the reason he avoids other teachers like the plague. he does not often go into the staff room, limits their interactions to meeting, and holds himself at the length of his marked arm. he makes a point of not openly seeking their approval, but rather covertly taking note of their behaviour, so he can emulate it in class, feeding off the experience they so like to laud over his head, and his own memories of the classroom as their student.

when a house elf says that his presence is requested by the headmaster, he keeps his face carefully impassive. he is not a child anymore, and he’s certainly not been doing anything that would warrant a reprimand. dumbledore, who so covets his grandfatherly image, might just be asking for a catch-up. some tea, and lemon drops, where he will not-so-subtly ask about what news from home the slytherins have brought. severus is always careful in how he self-edits his accounts. his students’ privacy and safety is his most paramount concern, because, he strongly suspects, it is no one else’s.

he is not so new at his position, that he is unfamiliar with the routine, and he’d become more practiced in it over the years. no one was doing anything for the children, of this he was certain, so it fell to him, this ugly secretive burden. perhaps he dismisses the elf a little too sharply, but the week after lent was always a hard, with report cards, and fraying tempers returning from weeks at sprawling family estates with soundproofed walls. he’d been brewing day and night for his own house, and he’d had to, regretfully, turn some of the students from other houses, away, empty-handed.

there just wasn’t enough of him to go around, and certainly not enough of his bruise salve. broken bones and nerve damage from the cruciatus curse always took precedence, over a few swats with a wooden spoon. muggleborns were far more resistant anyway.

but he banishes those thoughts from his head, and brings up his shields. this is nor what dumbledore wants, or needs, to know, because he’s never asked before, and he certainly does not care.

he does not show it, but he is a little surprised to see the other heads of house in the man’s office when he steps in. years as a spy help him keep his face neutral, and he even manages to sound not too sour at all when he asks “what did you need from me, albus?”

calling them by their first names is a habit he’d had to train himself into his first year as a tracher. he’d put a ponytail holder, fallen behind after another class of useless second-year hufflepuffs left his brewery in a right state, around his left wrist, and snapped it against his skin every time he almost addressed them as though they were his professors and not his colleagues and equals.

“severus,” albus says, and though his voice is as calm and collected as ever, there is a steel beneath it that makes him wonder if something urgent has happened. are the students safe? if there was danger, surely, everyone would not just be standing around, right?

“sit down, my boy,” dumbledore encourages, and severus does, folding himself neatly into the plush chair opposite dumblefore’s desk, and crossing his legs at the ankle. he sits with his back straight, like lucius taught him, his hands primly in his lap, and tries not to let his discomfort show at having both minerva and filius at his back. pomona is standing next to him, so he can keep en eye on her in his peripheral, but if the other two move, he will have to rely on his senses and fast reflexes only, and he doesn’t like that at all. filius is sneaky too, due to his height, he’d have to –

he’d have to do nothing, because he is not at war anymore, and these are his colleagues.

“severus,” minerva begins speaking. she circles around, so she’s behind dumbledore now, with his cluttered desk between them, and though he’s glad not to have her at his back anymore, he’s not sure he likes the feeling of being surrounded much better. he wishes he hadn’t sat down, so he may at least be as tall as her, and meet her gaze head on.

“we have received a rather … disturbing report from a student,” minerva says.

he tries not to roll his eyes too visibly, when he says “a gryffindor?”

they always have disturbing reports about him, like none of them understand that the reason he’s always on their case about how to cut scarabei wings, and when to stir in the aconite root are a matter of blowing off their own faces or leaving his classroom in one piece. as though minerva doesn’t constantly threaten punitive transfiguration in her own classes, honestly.

“yes,” minerva says, “a gryffindor went into the healing wing earlier today, with some rather… concerning injuries.”

he casts his mind back and tries to think but – no. there had been no major incidents in his class over the past week at all. certainly nothing worthy of being taken to poppy, and he’d know about this. he’d stressed repeatedly how important it was that they tell him immediately if they spilled anything on themselves, or got a cut or a burn. his brows knit in a frown.

“it can’t have been anything sustained in my classroom. i’ve had a shockingly uneventful first week.”

“it’s not the type of injury typically sustained in a classroom,” says minerva softly.

severus almost rolls his eyes again. if he has to have _another_ talk with his seventh years about blowing off their steam on gryffindor smaller years, he may just lose his temper and start yelling at them, and he _never_ yells at his slytherins. “i can assure you, if there’s been any fighting, the culprit will be dealt with,” he says.

how many times had he told them to make sure not to get caught? were they slytherins, or what?

“severus… an accusation has been levelled against you,” albus finally says.

that takes him a moment. he blinks. “me?” he parrots back.

“yes, severus. which is why this is all so… well. concerning.” albus says.

as if. nothing regarding the well-being of a student had ever been concerning before. but it’s not about the student’s well-being, he knows. it’s about him, and his supposed dark nature, which he just can’t help. as usual.

“what did i do,” he asks, and then borrowing from lucius’ book adds. “allegedly?”

it’s like this.

a gryffindor third year student who will, for her own safety and privacy, not be named, comes back for summer term, no worse or better for wear than she usually does after a stint in her mixed muggle-wizard household, with bruises on her wrists, and forearms, and everywhere else. the student goes to professor snape, as everyone knows you should do where you have a bruise in a place bruises have no business being.

it’s like this. professor snape’ll sort you right out, with a glamour and some pain relievers, no muss, no fuss, and he won’t tell no one either, and he won’t ask any questions. everyone knows this.

but professor snape is busy this week, because a lot of students are coming back, of course, and he’s depleted. professor snape sends her away only with the glamour, but the glamour does nothing for the pain.

the student goes to madam pomfrey for pain reliever.

it’s like this. madam pomfrey asks what the pain reliever is for.

it’s like this. the student says

“professor snape said no one woule ever believe me.”

severus closes his eyes. “so it’s like this?”

“severus,” says dumbledore, and his voice is that steel-wrapped-in-velvet still. “this is a very serious situation, and a very serious accusation to have on your record.”

severus opens his eyes. dumbledore is looking at him. minerva is looking at him. filius is, though he can’t see him, and he can intuit pomona’s glare from the side.

he arches an eyebrow. “yes,” he says slowly, as though speaking to idiots, which in this moment he’s convinced they are. “i remember that student. and that particular conversation. though what has possessed her to go to poppy is beyond me, when i said i would deal with her privately, when i have the time.”

albus sighs so, so very deeply, and presses his hand to his forehead.

“severus,” says albus softly, “i hope you understand the gravity of the situation.”

it is clear by his expression that he does not. situations like this arise all the time – it can’t be helped. though the war had shrunk their numbers, hogwarts was, after all, rather a busy school, with many students who come from all sorts of families. what’s one aming the many?

he’d been harsh with her, yes, but he’d been no more or less harsh than usual. he was not in the habit of coddling students – it wouldn’t do them any good to become accustomed to special treatment, when only Salazar knew if they’d be able to get it anywhere else later in life. it would do them no good at all, to build up any ideas that he could do more than what he was already offering.

and so, of course, the silly thing had gone on to poppy, and well – there it is. this is what he’d been trying to keep her from exactly. this very situation. he shudders to imagine the kind of scolding she’s probably receiving from the older woman right this minute, along with her potions.

he’d stopped going to poppy in his second year. his mam’s pain relievers were better anyhow, and the diluted bruise salve did nothing for the lashes from his da’s belt on his back. it did nothing the marks and burns from his daily crawl through the trenches that the school hallways had become because of a bored pureblood lord and his retinue of privileged, spoiled peers.

he’s not sure why he’s the one getting a bollocking over minerva’s student though. surely, he can’t be blamed for her carelessness in letting things slip she shouldn’t let slip. he’d told her no one would ever believe her and he’d meant it. there was no point raising a fuss, as though the situation could be changed. yes, it was unfortunate what happened at home behind closed doors, but she wasn’t the first, and wouldn’t be the last either.

“hogwarts does not condone corporal punishment, severus,” minerva finally says, and shakes her head. she looks so disappointed, like in the past five minutes she’s aged ten years. “you know this very well, and yet…” she sighs.

wait, what?

“you’ve assaulted a student in your care, intimidated and threatened her, and have now admitted to it,” dumbledore sighs too. “i thought better of you, i really did, but… i’m afraid when the ministry and the parents are called, it will be all our of my hands.”

“wait,” says severus, finally, “what?”

he looks at albus’ face, and then minerva. they both look crushed, in a way he isn’t sure he’s ever seen on them, and beside him, with a soft noise, pomona collapses in the other armchair, while filius makes an indignant noise.

“surely, my boy, you knew there’d be consequences for something like this?” dumbledore asks heavily.

“consequences? for what? i told her i couldn’t help her this week, and sent her on her way. maybe i was a little short with her, but – “

but what’s the point of calling the ministry, unwarranted as it is, what can they do about it? no crime has been committed here.

“severus, you hit a student!” minerva exclaims.

he stares at her, trying to make her words make sense. “what?”

“a child,” minerva carries on, “a child, who has come here to learn, to discover the magical world, to – to learn from you. she has come here, and … and she goes to poppy, covered in god-awful bruises that someone’s done a bang up job of covering up, asking for a pain reliever, saying you told her no one would believe her, and i’m just trying to understand – “

“i didn’t hit her,” he says. he wouldn’t go as far as to say he’d never hit a student. it does happen, that he sometimes has to cuff someone round the neck, it comes with the territory if teaching rowdy teenagers, but this is not at all that, which minerva is suggesting he might have done.

and suddenly, the picture does gain some clarity.

it’s minerva’s turn to be stumped into silence. “what?” she says.

“i didn’t hit her,” he says, spreads his hands out. “i’ve never hit a student, i’m not in the habit of it, i certainly haven’t started now.” then, because he knows that this is just how his cards are stuck, because he wishes he’d never been foolish enough to extend his meagre help to a gryffindor, and knows what the answer will be, because he has been here before so many times, feeling just as small and insignificant,

_“ – did black say i started it? i didn’t hex him, they took my – “_

“did she say i hit her?”

_children often lie and exaggerate_ , is what horace had said to him once, when he’d still been professor slughorn. _i’m sure it’s not quite so bad, my boy_.

this is what he must have meant.

well. all the side brewing had been taking rather too much energy from him anyhow, and not left enough time for research, he supposes. so he’ll put a stop to it. let the ingratitude of one be the harbinger of consequences for all others. pain relievers are not that hard to brew anyway, and they can swallow poppy’s scoldings with her inferior medicines.

he studies the faces of each of the other four adults in the room. once more, he is fifteen, and there is a heavy stone in his stomach, and he knows no one will ever believe him. just like he’d told the girl.

“well,” he demands. “did she say i hit her?”

he might lose face for a bit, with his colleagues. surely, though, they know he’d done much worse as a death eater than allegedly hit a child. he’ll have to be extra courteous to albus for a while. it would all wear off by the end of the school year. come next september, it would water under the bridge. it sours him, somewhat, that she’d lie about something like this. it’s unfortunate, because she’ll be known as a liar now, and a fake, and that’s the worst part. well. children lie and exaggerate sometimes, and surely, albus and minerva know that too. of course, minerva is overreacting, because it’s one of her lions, but then again, who can blame her? he’s partial to his own students too.

“not – “ albus takes a deep breath. “not in so many words.”

“what did she say then?” severus asks. sometimes, children ask for help, and it’s not always in the best way. he’d carried sirius black’s cries for help on his body for seven years, after all.

“she just…,” albus says, right as the door to his office bursts open.

it’s the student, followed by madam pomfrey, both looking distraught in equal measure.

“professor,” the student cries out, “professor, i’m so sorry! i didn’t mean to get you in trouble, i really, really didn’t.”

severus rolls his eyes. he can’t stand crying, though perhaps it’s warranted. god knows, he’d felt like crying the few times he’d been to poppy’s office. she’d always acted like being malnourished was his own fault, somehow.

“i’m not in trouble,” he says. “what have i told you?”

“no one ever gets in trouble for stuff like this?” she says, a little uncertainly, sniffles, and wipes her eyes.

he nods. the sooner she learn it, the better. he hadn’t learned until … well. by his fifth year he should have known better, and didn’t.

“then why are you in the headmaster’s office, if you’re not in trouble,” she asks.

“that’s what i’m trying to find out,” he tells her. “professor dumbledore seems to be under the impression that… i’ve hit you.”

“what?”

she stares at dumbledore like he’s grown a second head. “he wouldn’t! professor snape would never. he’s never hit me – he’s never hit anyone,” she seems close to hysterics again, and pomona puts a hand on her shoulder to steady her. severus wishes someone would put a hand on his shoulder.

“but you said – “ poppy starts.

“i said i needed a pain potion, and you said why, and i said no one would believe me, because professor snape said so, and now he’s in trouble, and none of you _are_ believing me!” she shouts, stomps her little leg.

sometimes he likes children. only sometimes, though.

“if you had just listened to me – “ the girl continues shouting, as poppy leads her out of the room.

“i would _never,”_ severus repeats quietly, “hit a child.”

he stands up, smooths a hand over his robes. “if you think that of me… perhaps i should not be working here.”

it’s an empty threat, of course. it’s not as though he has anywhere else to go.

he just wishes that a student hadn’t been dragged into this latest lambasting of his moral character, it just wasn’t fair to her.

“well, if that’s all then,” he says. he wants to leave. he doesn’t want to be in this room more than he has to. he wants to go somewhere the adults can’t see him.

“just a moment, please, severus,” says dumbledore. he still looks terribly concerned, but severus has long learned that dumbledore’s concern has nothing to do with him. he’d looked concerned that night in fifth year too, but the first words out of his mouth had been “you have to swear to never tell.”

severus had learned not to tell. he’d taught his students too. as far as he was concerned, his conduct was blameless.

“am i guilty of some other unspeakable horror, besides imparting on a student the knowledge of how the world works?” he snarls.

he’s a little bit done being polite for the night.

“i’m just trying to understand,” for the first time, pomona speaks up, “why would you say something like that to a student?”

well, no one could accuse hufflepuffs of being terribly bright. “should i have just not said anything, and let her experience the harsh disappointments of life on her own? i thought you’d all wanted me to pointedly not do that.”

“what does that even _mean?”_ pomona stands up, and he flinches back automatically, taking a step to place the chair between them. it puts his back to the wall which is just as well.

“it means, i’d rather have a student who is prepared, who knows how the world -this world – works, so she doesn’t have to get disapppointed, when she finds out that even though there’s magic here, it’s not quite a fairytale at all. and i figured, you all would rather i handle the difficult conversations. since all the students dislike me regardless,” he rolls his eyes. “because they are fragile little snowflakes, it may as well come from me.”

“what? what may as well come from you?” pomona takes a step forward. if she gets any closer to him, he’s taking his wand out.

“that it’s not our problem if her da’ gets a bit too into his cup and smacks her around sometimes, because it’s not our job to intervene, and take her out of there!” he shouts, because he is exasperated, and if they are so determined to beat around the bush and make him say it, fine – he will.

“severus,” dumbledore says quietly. he’s stood up too, and he’s leaning heavily on the desk. “are you saying that you… encouraged… and – and _helped_ a student hide abuse, based on the assumption that nothing would be done about the situation?”

dumbledore loves to patronize everyone, it’s his most annoying quality.

“merlin’s beard, yes!” he cries out, and throws his hands up in the air, and in the stunned silence of the room, four pairs of eyes are trained on him. dumbledore looks quietly furious. maybe severus shouldn’t have raised his voice at the adults, but it’s too late to take it back now.

he’s never been able to tell when he’s expected to answer a question, and when to keep his trap shut, because he’ll be talking back.

“you’ve taught at this school for… several years now,” dumbledore says, and is very obviously counting to a high number in his head, and putting in the effort to control his breathing. “and you became aware that a student was abused, and it did not occur to you to inform me, or her head of house?”

“as if you’d have done anything other than tell me not to exaggerate and send me away. pr worse – tell _them_ not to exaggerate and sed them away.”

“them? severus, how many students – “

severus meets his eyes with his own flat gaze. “a lot. less lately, as we get farther from the war.”

dumbledore takes in a deep breath. “and… you have been… directing these students to come to you. you have coached them to lie. you have coached them not to tell, all because you thought that if me or minerva found out that a student was being hurt, that nothing would be done?”

“and would it?” severus challenges.

he stares dumbledore down. he thinks of sirius black, like he does in his weakest moments. dumbledore had loved perfect, pureblooded, gryffindor, light-sided sirius black, and he still hadn’t saved him from his mother. he takes his comfot in that thought, every time the moon shines big and fat and full in the night sky over the lake. dumbledore hadn’t saved black either.

“severus,” minerva says, and she looks quietly horrified. “of course it would!”

a student. first, he’d come to this school as a student. then as a teacher. they must all think they’re being so clever to distress him like that. to make him feel stupid. even his friends in slytherin had liked their games of “make the muggle-raised feel line an idiot,” and some of them had been – well. not quite his friends, but at least peers.

these people here are not his friends. they’re certainly not equals, he knows that much.

“you don’t have to mock me, you know.” he says. “just because i was harsh. i know what the situation is. there’s no point in giving them false hope, but i’ll try to be nicer for next time.”

“do you really think… that a child being hurt… would not be saved in hogwarts?”

“do you… expect me to believe that they would be?” severus asks, because he’d thought better of at least albus.

it had never occurred to him. the truth is, it had never occurred to him. he hadn’t thought to even ask. well. that’s not true. he’d asked. he’d asked so many times, as a child.

but children lie and exaggerate.

and some children are more deserving of redemption than others. and other children need to hide their bruises, and lie about how they got them, or risk being –

well. he’d sworn to dumbledore that he wouldn’t tell.

when he meets dumbledore’s eyes, he knows that dumbledore is thinking of that night too.

he’d taken a beating from the willow, but at the end of it all, the werewolf hadn’t actually touched him. he’d survived. there were no expulsions that night. there was bitter bruise salve and several months of detention. for all four of them.

he knows how much the life of a halfblood is worth, as compared to the future of a pureblood. he knows his place. he’s done his best to teach the children their place too, so they won’t be disappointed, later in life.

he feels the way he should have felt that night, like some great clawed monster had sliced through his chest, and split him open. he’s not sure how it’s possible that he’d gotten it so wrong. he’s not sure –

he looks at dumbledore’s serene face, at pomona, at filius and minerva. they are not his equals.

he’s sure they’re speaking, but he doesn’t listen.

he just leaves the room. he doesn’t let himself breathe until he’s in his chambers, the door shut and locked behind him, and he fishes out the good stuff lucius sent for his birthday. he sits in the armchair by his fireplace. he drinks. he thinks about the children.

they could have been saved. the children could have been saved. if he’d been less of a coward. if he’d talked to the adults. dumbledore’s furious look doesn’t leave his mind.

he could have told dumbledore, and dumbledore would have saved the children. is that what he’s supposed to believe?

he counts in his mind the years he’s been working. he counts the number of potions he brewed. he thinks about the children. all he does – all he’s ever done, is think about the children.

as a child, he had been misled by adults. and as an adult –

he drinks the good stuff, because it helps him swallow the bad. and every potioner should have a bit of bad.

he rolls his sleeves up, because he’s hot. sweat is beading on his forehead.

he tosses powder in the fireplace, and calls out for lucius past the bile in his throat.

“did you know?” he asks, no preamble.

it will be a small betrayal, if lucius knew and didn’t tell him. to better make you look the fool, my dear.

“i am with my family,” lucius hisses at him.   
  
“did you know,” severus repeats, “that hogwarts has a policy for reporting child abuse.”

lucius stares at him. lucius shrugs. “so what if it does?”

something loosens in severus’s chest. ah. so he did know.

“nothing. just…”

“draco won’t be coming to hogwarts for a few years yet, and i assure you,” lucius says snootily, “that the polic is wholly irrelevant to our family. i am not my father.”

“i know you’re not, luc,” says severus. “i just… thought it’s strange that it’s never come up before.”

he disconnects the call. lucius had been almost offended at the question, which is good. severus would have hated to have to teach draco what he taught the others. draco’s a sweet child. lucius is a good father.

he takes another swig.

strange that it had never come up before.

strange how indignant the adults were when it came to other children, gryffindor children.

had they ever been quite to indignant on his behalf?

it’s too warm by far. he drinks more, though it won’t cool him down. it’s too warm.

he loosens his tie too. the dark mark has faded against his skin, but it’s still there, the only scar he took willingly, almost eagerly.

strange that it had never come up before. strange, that he never questioned why.

he knows, of course. in his heart of hearts, he knows it’s his own fault. it had been so much easier to accept it as a fact of his new reality, to believe that hogwarts would not be the place for children to be saved, that they could run there, only for a few months at a time, and if they hid well enough – and he certainly could never hide well enough from the marauders – it would be their respite. it had been easier to believe that there was no one in this world who could ever help the children, than to admit the truth that he’d chosen to ignore.

it was him that no one in this world could, or would, help. it was him that they wouldn’t save.

and in his willfull ignorance, he’d doomed so many children. he’d ruined them, like he himself had been ruined, all because he hadn’t wanted to admit that sirius black and james potter had been right all those years ago. _no one_ cared about him. _no one_ wanted him to survive. no one.

and because of that now… god. he’d wanted the children to be saved, and he’d failed them, and all he can say for himself is that it had been a mistake. it had been a terrible, awful, no-good mistake. he hadn’t known any better.

isn’t that what he’d told dumbledore, begging on his knees for lily’s life.

he hadn’t known any better, because the adults hadn’t shown him. they just expected him to know. but he didn’t know. he didn’t know, andit had cost the children.

the next swig comes up empty, and he looks, unfocused at the empty bottle.

it slips between his fingers and thuds on this thick carpet of his floor.

he closes his eyes, because it’s hot, and he’s tired.

he’s glad he knows now. he’s glad he knows, because of the students. someone will help the students. someone will save the students. now he understands. hogwarts will help the children. just not him.

just not him.

that’s fine. he’s not a child anymore. he should be over it. he should have gotten over it. he is. he’s getting over it now. it will all be over by tomorrow.

but it’s not over tomorrow.

it’s like this.

he wakes up in the hospital wing with a tube down his throat.

it’s like this. lucius firecalled dumbledore, because severus had sounded off.

dumbledore and minerva had rushed into his office.

madam pomfrey pumped his stomach to get out the liquor, and the bit o’ bad it had eased down.

it’s like this. minerva opens an investigation into that student’s home life.

the first years get nice colofrul pamphlets with pictures.

he’s back to teaching classes.

it’s like this. two weeks after, one of his regular ravenclaw fifth years comes to his office hour.

“something bad’s happened,” he says. “but they didn’t believe me.”

severus closes his eyes. “so. it’s like this.”

**Author's Note:**

> big sad hours are now


End file.
